Doppelgänger
John Claiborne Isbell
​​​​​​​At first, you notice little things – a coat
left careless on the couch, a cup of tea
half-drunk when you had made yourself no tea.
And gradually, these things acquire a weight
that lifts them from the mundane – when a mate
regrets a talk you never had, your aunt
remarks on Tuesday’s visit, or your wife
describes your trip to Denver. People can’t
tell you apart. How might you claim your life
back from this shadow? As you lose the sun
in grief, the web that held you melts away
until there’s nothing left. The doppelgänger
has occupied the king file and your day
plays out around its edges. He has won
this game. You didn’t know it had begun.
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Fliss: Welcome, John, and well met! We’re happy you’ve returned for issue no. 9.​
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John: Well met indeed, Fliss and Word-Bird! I am delighted to return for this issue!
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F: As are we! And thanks for providing this poem, which was published in Snakeskin in October 2023. We’re glad to republish it here, as part of this issue’s little celebration of Snakeskin’s 30th birthday. What a feat!
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J: You are most welcome! I am glad to contribute the poem to your celebration of Snakeskin’s 30th anniversary! Hooray for George Simmers!
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F: Hooray indeed! Now, let’s begin our discussion. Last month, we piled into the WM camper van for a trip to Venice, a geographical destination. Today we’re entering the van again, W.-B. at the wheel, for something of a supernatural trip. Does this seem apt to you?
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J: It seems most à propos! The poem has a bit of a fairy tale feel, with a supernatural being at the heart of it.
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F: It does indeed, John. Was there a specific fairy tale that inspired your thoughts here? Or have you ever experienced anything in the supernatural realm?
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J: Ah! There is as I recall a very good Roger Moore film about a doppelgänger, which I saw many years ago. As for the supernatural realm, I don’t believe in ghosts but I once encountered one at midnight in the Bishop’s Palace in Durham. I was halfway down a hidden staircase and felt a great sensation of cold rising up through my legs. I wanted the others to check it out but they preferred not to!
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F: Spooky stuff! We’re not surprised no one wanted to encounter that particular spirit. Is that Roger Moore film The Man Who Haunted Himself, perhaps? I shan’t say too much about the plot, but suffice to say the film reaches a resolution. By contrast, there’s no neat end to your poem, John, which makes it rather unnerving. Was that your intended effect here?
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J: That sounds like the film I saw! You are quite right, there is no easy resolution here. Doppelgänger is also one of the few words in the poem without a rhyme. Creepy stuff indeed!
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F: Yes indeed; we’d spotted that! And the rhyme scheme itself is unusual. When I first saw the poem, in the moment before starting to read it, I thought it might be a sonnet. But instead we have 15 lines, and A-B-B-C-C-D-E-D-E-F-G-H-G-F-F. So that’s unnerving also.
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J: Yes, it’s almost a sonnet, but another line has crept in!
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F: John, is it possible the doppelgänger composed this poem?
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J: Ah! Now that is very interesting. As Monty Python remarked, I was hoping you would not ask that particular question. I think you may indeed be onto something!
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F: Yes, perhaps! Well, congratulations to the doppelgänger, not least as he seems to have a good grasp of rhythm. This is pent, we think?
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J: He is perhaps a dancing doppelgänger. You are quite right, this is rhyming pentametric verse.
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F: Hooray! If one must have a doppelgänger, a dancing one would be fun. Maybe there’s scope for a new and cheerier film!
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J: The idea certainly has promise! Disco Doppelgänger, perhaps.
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F: And we would watch that here! Well, on that happy thought, thanks very much for discussing your poem with us this month, John. W.-B. is wondering whether she might pop a disco track into the WM van’s tape player as we move on to our next destination. Any requests from you?
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J: Ah! Well, how about Gloria Gaynor’s ’I Will Survive’?
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All: [singing] At first I was afraid, I was petrified! / Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side. . .
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W.-B. #2: [joins in, smiling]
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John Claiborne Isbell is a writer and now-retired professor currently residing in France with his wife Margarita. Their son Aibek lives in California with his wife Stephanie. John’s first book of poetry was Allegro (2018); he also publishes literary criticism, for instance An Outline of Romanticism in the West (2022) and Women Writers in the Romantic Age (April 2025), both available free online. John spent 35 years playing Ultimate Frisbee and finds it difficult not to dive for catches any more!
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